


Save Tonight

by rjmoony



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, First Time, HLV fix-it, Infidelity, M/M, Mary-neutral, Romance, Virgin Sherlock, every trope ever, john is done giving shits, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 13:02:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3651309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rjmoony/pseuds/rjmoony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night is all John Watson has, before Sherlock Holmes flies off on a suicide mission and is lost to him forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> SO. HI. I'm Remo, and this is the first fic I've written in ten years, and the first fic I've ever written containing man-on-man sexy times. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Right now this is a one-shot, but if the response is positive I do have a series of these planned. 
> 
> Oh, I should explain: this fic is inspired by the song "Save Tonight" by Eagle Eye Cherry. Hopefully this will be one of a number of fics based off songs from my Johnlock playlist, all connected of course. If you like it, let me know, and I'll get working on that!
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read this!

***       

 

_Baker Street. Tonight. Bring wine. –SH_

John Watson didn’t even think about it. He didn’t put up any protest, didn’t consult his wife, didn’t even check if he had plans. He simply replied immediately.

_Okay._

***

 

They don’t talk about it. Sherlock thinks he doesn’t know. John lets him think that; it’s easier for both of them. Better to pretend this is just another case than to acknowledge it for what it really is. Better to think that, in six months time, Sherlock will be back at Baker Street, playing his violin and sneaking body parts past Mrs. Hudson than to think he might not come back at all.

Better for John to pretend this is just another night in than to admit that he is once again saying goodbye to his best friend.

They drink their wine and eat Chinese takeaway and John flips through stations on the telly while Sherlock makes half-hearted deductions about the shows that somehow still turn out to be right. The tension between them is almost palpable, the air practically vibrating with things unsaid.

_Please don’t go._

_I can’t handle losing you again._

_I need you._

_I love you._

No, can’t say that. Never that. The fact couldn’t be more obvious, but the timing has never been right.

_Never will be right._

“John? John, are you even listening?”

John gives Sherlock a small smile, decides to keep it light. “I don’t know, how long have you been talking?”

Sherlock huffs and rolls his eyes, but his lips quirk and John knows he appreciates the attempt at normalcy. He is in his pajama bottoms and dressing gown, sitting cross-legged on one end of the sofa. John is sunk into the other end, feet on the coffee table, hands folded over his middle. He is starting to get a good buzz off the wine, and perhaps it is this that compels him to trade the table for Sherlock’s lap. Sherlock doesn’t comment, just rests one hand lightly on John’s ankle, the other reaching for his glass of Merlot. Hardly an appropriate pairing for the meal they just shared, but it had somehow become their thing over the years.

“So,” John says, once he’s settled in his new position, “Did I miss anything important? Or were you simply ruining the ending of yet another programme?”

An odd look crosses Sherlock’s face at John’s choice of words, and it doesn’t take a genius to see the pain and regret etched across his features. He recovers quickly; anyone but John would have missed it. Suddenly, he wants to do anything but play pretend.

He braces himself with a much too large sip from his own glass, and begins. “Look, Sherlock…”

“John.” Sherlock’s grip on his ankle tightens. “Don’t,” he says, simply.

“I can’t sit here with you, Sherlock, I can’t sit here and pretend this isn’t bloody happening. _Again._ Not now. Not after all we’ve been through. I can’t just…watch crap telly and eat takeaway and not think about how in the morning…how tomorrow you—“

“Stop!” Sherlock moves too quickly for John to react, large hands gripping his shoulders much too hard and his face within inches of John’s. “John, please…” His eyes are wide and wild, scanning every inch of John’s face as if in an attempt to memorize it. “I need this. Tonight. Just tonight, I need you to do this for me.”

And that is when John breaks. The echo of words spoken so long ago, _the last time I lost him_ , is too much for him. The years spent pining over Sherlock, the years he grieved, all the conflicted emotions from when he returned—John has had _enough,_ and if tonight is the last chance he has, he is going to take it. He should be afraid of rejection, should be afraid of ruining these last moments together, and maybe it’s the wine or the impending doom but he throws all caution to the wind as he surges up to press their lips together.

He doesn’t think about his wife, or his unborn child. He doesn’t think about anything except how quickly Sherlock melts into the embrace, his lips parting against John’s, one hand finding its way to the back of John’s neck to pull him in, the other slipping around his waist, and John suddenly _knows_. He sees the last year flash before his eyes, everything from wedding planning to _shooting a man in the fucking head_ , and he finally sees that he has been wrong about Sherlock all this time. Sherlock not only _can_ “feel things that way”, but he does with more depth and passion than John has ever experienced, all poured in to a single, mind-blowing kiss.

Any hope for normalcy goes flying out the window real quick after that.

Sherlock’s hands find their way under John’s jumper, and John makes quick work of Sherlock’s buttons. They say nothing, just continue snogging on the couch in a way John hasn’t done since his teens. He pushes Sherlock’s shirt off his shoulders, runs his hands over smooth planes of muscle sheathed in fair skin, trails his fingers over the scar left by Mary’s bullet. He marvels at how close they’ve come to losing each other so many times, how they’ve cheated death, yet never done this. At how there is no escape this time, no clever way out, and of course, _of course_ it would be now, when there is no longer hope for them. When John is married with a baby on the way and Sherlock…

John’s attention is drawn back to the present when Sherlock tugs insistently on his jumper. They break the kiss long enough for John to peel it off, and when they come back together it is with a new urgency. Their kisses are messy and desperate now, hands everywhere, John’s tongue finding its way into Sherlock’s mouth, and _god he tastes amazing,_ like tobacco (of course he’s been smoking again) and red wine and something spicy that is probably from dinner but John likes to think is endemic to Sherlock. When Sherlock explores John in turn, John deliberately shuts down all his previous trains of thought, deciding that if he really only has tonight, he’s going to make it count. John will not let this thing he has wanted for so long (and will never have again) be overshadowed by what’s to happen in the morning. _There is only tonight,_ he thinks, _and that will have to be enough._

His mind made up, John takes control of the situation. He presses against Sherlock until the other man is flat on his back on the sofa, knees bent and feet planted as John settles between them. He runs his hands down Sherlock’s arms and seizes his wrists, bringing them up over his head and pinning them there. Sherlock whines and bucks his hips, gasping as they press together, and it is good, _so good_ , John wishes they had all the time in the world, just to do this. His lips leave Sherlock’s mouth and wander, dotting kisses along his cheekbones, the underside of his jaw, down his neck. Sherlock moans his name and arches beneath him.

“John…”

“God, you’re beautiful.” John punctuates his declaration with another heated kiss. “Do you even know how gorgeous you are? Seeing you like this, stretched out, laid bare for me…do you know what it does to me? How long I’ve wanted you like this?”

“I think I have some idea, yes,” Sherlock makes his point with another roll of his hips. John marvels at how, even now, Sherlock still finds a place for sarcasm. He tugs at his pinned wrists, and John releases him, shifting so that he now straddles the other man’s hips. John is achingly hard, and when Sherlock runs his hands down his torso and cups the bulge in his trousers, he can’t help but hiss and push forward. Looking pleased with himself, Sherlock increases the pressure and repeats the action until John is a writhing mess above him.

John sighs in frustration as Sherlock’s hands again travel upward, mapping every inch of his exposed skin. The detective takes his time, his fingers dancing over a nipple, brushing through the trail of dark hair disappearing into John’s trousers. He traces the scar on John’s shoulder over and over again with something like reverence, his eyes going soft as he lifts both hands to cup John’s face.

“Of everyone I have ever encountered, none have commanded my attention the way you have,” Sherlock says softly. “Not in this or any other capacity.”

His tone is so earnest, his expression so open and vulnerable, that John has no other choice than to kiss him again, over and over and over until they are both panting. Their hips rock together and John can’t hold back anymore; he loves this, taking things slow, but he has waited so long, and wants Sherlock so badly. He wants him stripped of his clothes and defenses, stretched out on a bed while John catalogs every part of him with lips and tongue.

He doesn’t know how they made it to the bedroom, or out of their remaining clothes, but he gets his wish soon enough. Sherlock is a vison, all pale skin against dark sheets, and it takes John’s breath away. He sets about learning the body of this magnificent man, committing everything he can to memory, knowing that soon it is all he will have. The way Sherlock squirms when he runs his tongue up the juncture of his hip and thigh, the surprisingly ticklish spots on the back of his knees, the soft and surprised “Oh!” when John finally takes him in his mouth. Every reaction of Sherlock’s fans the flames of John’s own arousal, and he dips his hand downward, needing to feel Sherlock from the inside as well.

Sherlock stiffens as John gently presses a finger against him, making John pause. He frees his mouth and straightens up, running his hands softly up and down Sherlock’s thighs.

“Sherlock, have you done this before?” he asks with a curious look at the beautiful man spread beneath him.

Sherlock only shakes his head in answer, before pulling John down for a kiss that takes John’s breath away.

“I never had much interest in this sort of thing,” Sherlock admits when they come up for air. “I’ve read extensively, of course, but as far as the actual act…” he trails off. John cups his face and strokes a thumb along one of those impossible cheekbones, silently encouraging Sherlock to continue.

Sherlock sighs and turns into the touch. “I wanted, of course. As much as I try to deny it, I am only human. But the wanting never turned to actual desire until I met you.” Sherlock grips his wrist and captures his gaze, those indescribable eyes burning with an intensity that John rarely sees for anything but a case (this close, John can see the variations of color, the blues and greens and grays and the odd patch of gold and god, how had he never noticed this before).

“I want this with you tonight, John. You know more about all of this… _sentiment_ ,” he tries to spit the word in typical Sherlock fashion and fails stupendously, “than I ever will. If tonight…if this is all I will ever have, I want to learn as much as I can, and I can think of no better teacher. I trust you with my life, John. Of course I would trust you with this.”

John can feel the sappy smile spreading across his face. He wants to say _I love you_ , wants to make the declaration here and now and tell Sherlock that he can never, ever leave again. He thinks he would trade his entire life and future with Mary, their marriage and daughter and flat in the suburbs, if only he could stay in this moment for the rest of time, to never be separated from Sherlock again. He wants _so many things_ and can have none of them, save for one. He can have Sherlock tonight, be connected with him in the most intimate of ways, and it will have to do.

John kisses Sherlock hard, once, twice, before getting back to the task at hand. His plans quickly hit a snag, however.

“Um…Sherlock…” he begins hesitantly, “Do you have any…? I mean, we could do without, I don’t imagine you would, but it would be easier for you…”

Sherlock doesn’t answer, simply reaches into the top drawer and presses a small jar into John’s hand. The jar is unopened, and John grins wickedly as he makes his own deduction.

“Somebody was expecting this tonight,” John teases.

And Sherlock actually blushes, and John thinks he has never seen anything quite so lovely in his life.

“I had my hopes,” Sherlock replies, not quite meeting John’s eyes.

John can’t stop grinning. “You utterly ridiculous man,” he says affectionately, and then gets to work.

It’s slow going, but John wouldn’t trade a minute of it. He prepares Sherlock gently, taking in every gasp, every moan, every sigh of pleasure. When he finally places a pillow under Sherlock’s hips and enters him, keeping them face to face, they are both trembling with the intensity of their connection.

John tries to go slow, he really does, but Sherlock wraps his legs around his middle and cants his hips upward, urging John to go deeper, faster, harder, until John has lost all sense of control and Sherlock can do nothing but shout his name over and over again. John has a brief moment of worry about Mrs. Hudson hearing, but then Sherlock climaxes, tightening around him, and John’s world goes white as he follows suit. They stay together as long as they can, until John rolls off and Sherlock is at his side in a heartbeat, latching on to him as if afraid he may disappear if let go.

They lay like that for several minutes, Sherlock curled up against John, head tucked under his chin. John rubs his back and tries to stave off unpleasant thoughts as the post-coital haze fades.

It is Sherlock who speaks first. “I don’t want to go,” he says, and John thinks he hears a tremble in his voice, but doesn’t look down, allowing Sherlock to preserve some dignity.

“I don’t want you to go,” John replies, blinking against the burning he can feel behind his own eyes.

Neither man says anything else the entire night. _What else is there to say_ , John thinks. They stay awake as long as they can, wanting to hold on to the moment forever.

_I never want this night to end._

***

 

John doesn’t tell Mary.

He doesn’t even feel guilty.

He supposes he should worry about that.

To be fair, it was a one night thing. His last chance before Sherlock flew off to— _no, don’t think it._ Sherlock will get on that plane and it will all be over, what happened between them nothing more than a memory to help John through the long days ahead.

_Or make them worse. Look at what you’re losing._

But the universe, as it turns out, has other plans. John watches Sherlock’s plane land on the tarmac not five minutes after taking off, and he feels lighter than he has in years. Despite Moriarty, despite the fight ahead and the looming specter of John’s betrayal ( _who is she to be disappointed by betrayal_ ) and the fallout that will cause, he can’t feel anything but positively giddy. Sherlock will stay alive, stay home, stay with John, and that is everything he could ever want at this moment.

The East Wind is whipping up a storm, but John knows without a doubt that he and Sherlock can weather it. Together, John thinks, there will be no stopping them.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Did you did you? Kudos and comments make the world go round.
> 
> And hey, I'm on tumblr, if you would like to check that out: http://www.wetotallydonteatpeople.tumblr.com


End file.
